


Every Little Detail

by Arke



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fantasizing, Frottage, Light Angst, M/M, Mass Effect 1, Masturbation, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10074164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arke/pseuds/Arke
Summary: They say the devil is in the details.  Mission reports, protocol, the chain of command… all minor details in a story so much larger than either one of them could possibly fathom.Just minor details.Just like those damn fraternization regs.





	1. Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnaRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaRaven/gifts).



> AnnaRaven has a heart of gold and the patience of a saint. She asked for some ME1 MShenko yearning, and here we are. :)

Shepard had been staring at the same report for what felt like an eternity.

Reports for the Council tended to be bland and dry and not much else.

For their part in doing their damnedest to avoid involvement in ‘how Spectres conduct business,’ the Council wanted every little detail of his missions.  Ironic, considering how few details he ever received from them in return.  Other assignments taken on behalf of Hackett or some Citadel diplomat often added only frustration and subtracted only time.  And every mission always ended with a report that could have easily been whittled down to ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’

A little padding usually filled in the missing pieces well enough.

The _Normandy_ had been chasing Saren around the galaxy for weeks, only to find herself one step behind him the entire time.  The mission was huge, the width and breadth of the galaxy itself, and Shepard spent too many of his off hours sitting at the solitary desk in his cabin and staring at the screen suspended above it.  So many words that amounted to so little.

He always found himself resorting to bullshit within the first few paragraphs.

Fingertips frozen over the holographic keypad, he read through the last few words again.  A sentence fragment hung off the end of the last line as it had been for the past half-hour, some unfinished thought that he was not sure would be worth concluding.  Words so inert, lifelessly explaining away his choices and actions on Noveria, so far disconnected from the ‘here and now’ that had driven his every thought and movement on the ground.  The story had been reduced to a laundry list of people, places, and events – unorganized facts that, on their own, were such minor details.

But they say that the devil is in the details.

Mission reports, protocol, the chain of command… all minor details in a story so much larger than perfunctory words could convey. 

Somewhere in the chaos of circumstance was a real story.  A story worth the time and effort of weaving all of those details together.  A story worth the consequences of telling it.

Shepard blinked through the eye strain, the subtle tension radiating against his temples, and chanced a glance at the clock at the other end of the desk.

The _Normandy_ was well into the night cycle.  He pushed himself away from the desk and stood up.  When the cabin door slid open, only his own footfalls against the metal deck reached his ears and only the dimmed lights overhead met his eyes.  But when he rounded the corner, he stopped mid-step.

_Kaidan._

It had never been unusual to find him working at that familiar console outside the captain’s cabin.  What _was_ unusual was the number of times that Shepard had wandered out from the silence of his cabin at odd hours of the night to find him still standing there.

Maybe he was starting to expect it.  Maybe that was why he was becoming quick to leave the mission reports behind and venture out into the heart of the ship in the middle of the night.

Shepard had taken him on every mission.  The man was controlled and knew how to take orders, but he was also resourceful and showed initiative.  And he was principled – in some cases, too much so.  If anyone knew every regulation in the book like the back of his hand, it was Kaidan Alenko.

Kaidan Alenko and the way his mouth quirked ever so slightly whenever he noticed Shepard approaching him.  The way the matured lines on his face grew and shrank as they talked about everything from missions to service history to long-buried memories.  The way his voice hitched when he prefaced a sentence with a breathy laugh, that sound so characteristically _him_.

A hundred little details that Shepard had noticed before, all meshing together into a cohesive whole.

Kaidan Alenko was a story all his own.

He stood up straight and wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand, arm slowly lowering to his side and lip curling at one end when he caught sight of Shepard from the corner of his eye.

“Awake at this hour, Lieutenant?”

Kaidan turned to face him properly.  “Yeah,” he said, a tiny exhale of a word, tired and a little sheepish, that slipped from between slightly parted lips.

“I know I always say we should talk later, but _this_ late?”

“It’s not from lack of trying.”

His gaze fell away for a few seconds, fruitlessly scouring the deck in a moment of hesitation, and when he finally looked up, his eyes were a little more reserved, a little embarrassed, like he wanted to admit to something but had no idea where to start.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kaidan finally said.  “Had a… strange dream.  Happens occasionally.”

Shepard crossed his arms.  “So you’re working?”

“Figured I’d try to get something done in the meantime,” Kaidan replied.  “How about you, Commander?  Anything you need?”

“A distraction.”

Kaidan let out a laugh – all breath, low notes that rumbled out of his throat on half of a sigh – and it made Shepard’s stomach tense.

“Well, nobody can ever say you’re dishonest,” he said, his smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Shepard said, lifting a hand to scratch at the itch that had suddenly crept up the side of his neck.  “I was trying to hammer out a report, but...”

But the words refused to fit together.  They had stared back at him from the data screen as little more than silent noise.

“Thoughts?” he prompted.  “Anything I might’ve missed?”

Kaidan’s brow quirked.  “Off the record?”

Shepard was sick of ‘the record.’  He had been staring at it for god knows how long.

Apparently his silence was sufficient approval for Kaidan.  “Taking out Benezia probably set Saren back a bit,” he said.  “Hate to imagine how Liara’s handling it, though.”

Shepard hesitated.  That was another side of the story that would be best left off his report.

“Have you talked to her?” he finally asked.

“I haven’t decided what to say.  Hopefully I’ll have something come the morning cycle.”

“Yeah.  She didn’t really want to talk about it.  What’s done is done.”

“Makes sense.  Probably not something she wants to think about.  Actually, I, uh… knew you’d already talked to her, Shepard.”

“I figured she could’ve used an ear.”

Shepard stopped himself there.  He remembered how he had caught sight of Kaidan after he had finished speaking with Liara and left the med bay: how Kaidan glanced up from his familiar position at the console, how Kaidan’s eyes followed his steps, how Kaidan looked away as soon as he realized that his commanding officer was giving him the same sideways glance.

He had seen Kaidan’s shoulders stiffen from across the room.  He had seen the creases deepen at the corners of Kaidan’s eyes and on his brow.  He had seen every visible sign of restraint that peeked out from behind Kaidan’s best efforts to maintain control.

What it all meant was a question without an answer.

“Seems like you spend a lot of time here on restless nights,” he finally added.

“Yeah.”  Kaidan’s eyes flicked toward the med bay, and then he rolled his shoulders, jaw clenching a little tighter as he worked out the tension there.  “Got a lot to think about these days,” he added.  “Need to keep my hands busy, I guess.”

Those hands.  Steady from dedication.  Callused from combat.  Firmly set in every action they undertook on the field and…

Shepard swallowed the thought that lingered on the tip of his tongue, and it left his throat dry.

Heat radiated against his cheeks and dampened his brow, but he ignored it – or tried to.  And then Kaidan wiped his own brow with the back of his hand, eyes falling back to the console like they should have been trained there the whole time, like he had been the one caught unawares.

So Shepard risked a question, one that burned his throat on the way out, sharp with teasing defiance: “You normally sweat like this when your hands are busy?”

Kaidan looked him directly in the eye.  “Biotics run hot, sir,” he said, voice low, rough – wanting.

Maybe.

“I can see that,” Shepard said, and then he looked away. 

A sideways glance rewarded him with a smile – tiny and weak, but honest nonetheless – and he had to wonder if, this time, Kaidan knew that he was looking.

“Maybe we should both try to get some rest.  We’ll talk another time, Kaidan.”

“Sure, Shepard.”

Maybe Kaidan was _too_ distracting.

But he chanced another glance as the lieutenant turned away from him – steady hands working on one last attempt to fix the faulty console, the broad span of his shoulders and the slant of his back and the hard lines of his hips – and then let his gaze fall away to the floor.

So many stories weaved around his own, but never entwined with it.  Not with stolen glances that read every little detail only in secret.  Not with unspoken questions and muted answers.  Not with the regs tying his hands and holding his tongue. 

So if all he could get was a sideways glance, he would take everything it could give.


	2. Coffee

There was a moment, somewhere between rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time and catching himself restlessly tapping a finger on the desk, when Shepard finally realized that his report was unsalvageable bullshit.

A little more carefully structured, now, but still bullshit.

What was there to say about the rogue VI on Luna?  He had gone in with his team, powered through every assault drone the thing had thrown at him, and shut it down for good.  Tali’s hacking skills had proven invaluable, and Kaidan’s sabotage and overload abilities had been the perfect complements.  And at the end of it all, he had been left with an unclear message staring back at him from a terminal in one of the bunkers.

What did it mean?  How did a VI manage go rogue?  Was it some kind of top secret experiment?  What were the consequences of shutting down the system altogether?

But he had been tasked with stopping it, not understanding it.

The Alliance had never been keen on giving him the particulars, either.  But they were damn quick to issue assignments in the midst of his larger efforts to stop Saren, all while reminding him that he was still an Alliance soldier, bearing the uniform and the armor and everything they stood for.

Every obligation, every restriction, every regulation.

Every minor detail.

He powered down the display screen and stood up.

And suddenly he could not for the life of him remember why he had gone out to the mess.  Whatever thought that had led him there immediately dissipated when he saw Kaidan at the opposite end of the large table, a cup of coffee in hand, freshly brewed, steaming – too hot.

His eyes were downcast, long eyelashes casting tiny, jagged shadows upon his cheeks.  His lips were pursed and his cheeks were hollowed as he blew a soft, steady breath over the brim of the cup, dispelling the steam into the empty space before him.  His brow was set in the same way it normally did when he overanalyzed something.

Kaidan turned his head slightly, glanced up in the direction of some noise Shepard had not even heard, and then let his gaze fall back to the cup in his hand.  He took a sip in the silence that followed.  Shepard watched how the lieutenant’s tongue slipped out to chase the last drops, how it lingered a fraction of a second longer on the slight dip of the scar that bisected his lips.

Shepard found himself swallowing hard, miming the slow bob of Kaidan’s Adam’s apple.

No sideways glances.  He was outright staring now.

But he still looked away the instant Kaidan’s eyes flicked up to see him standing there.  He knew he probably looked rough, dark circles under his eyes and tired lines a little more prominent these days, and in his peripheral vision he could still see the concern on Kaidan’s face.  And when Kaidan set the cup aside and made a motion to get up, Shepard’s stomach surged into his throat.

“Can I get some coffee for you, Commander?” Kaidan asked, taking a few steps forward.

Shepard shook his head, and Kaidan stopped where he was.  “I’ll get it myself,” he said as he headed for the counter.

Not that he particularly wanted it.  Alliance-grade coffee was one of the vilest substances known to man, and a good reminder that sometimes what qualified as ‘standard’ was worth questioning.

Kaidan leaned against the edge of the table as Shepard turned his back to him, and he looked up when he heard footsteps at the other end of the passageway.  Shepard heard them, too, and kept his hand frozen over an empty cup as he waited and listened.

“Hey, LT, good to see you actually taking some time away from your post.”

Shepard reached for the coffee pot.  Ashley sounded a little more cheery than usual; maybe she had gotten a new message from one of her sisters.  The breathy laugh that followed made his fingers twitch around the pot’s handle.

“A short break is permissible once in a while, Chief,” Kaidan said.

Ashley said nothing for a moment, and Shepard imagined that she had some sort of mock-condescending look on her face, a teasing expression that she had leveled at him on more than one occasion.  She had never been shy about making her observations and opinions known.  Subtlety had never been her style.

“How’d it go down there on Luna?” she finally asked.

“A bit unusual,” Kaidan replied.  The tone of his voice was unusual in itself.  “Never really imagined I’d ever take part in retaking an Alliance training facility from a rogue VI.  Drones everywhere, kinetic barriers… the VI reacted to us like it was self-aware, like it was defending itself.”

An odd sense of relief eased some of the strain from Shepard’s shoulders.  Evidently Kaidan had been overthinking the whole situation, too.

“Sounds pretty intense,” Ashley replied.

“It was quite the fight, that’s for sure.”

Shepard remembered the fight.  There were some details that festered in the back of his mind.  Details unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.  Details unsuitable for the mission report.  Details that defied protocol in the form of tension low in his gut.  Details all centered around one Lieutenant Alenko.

_The stark determination crossing his features when he took his helmet off in the first bunker.  The biotic barrier coursing over every sharp line of his armor and every curve of his body.  The orange flicker from his omni-tool reflecting off the fine sheen of sweat upon his brow, highlighting every angle of his face and accenting the blue glow of his eyes._

Shepard risked a glance over his shoulder.

Kaidan’s head was turned slightly, eyes looking askance back at him, lip curled at one corner.

And then the sting of hot coffee spilling over the brim of the cup and splattering onto the countertop near his hand forced Shepard’s attention away.

“Shit—!”

He could hear Kaidan approaching, steps firm and steady upon the deck.

“Let me help, Shepard,” he said, reaching for a few disposable towels.

Shepard took a step back and quickly wiped the residual drops from his hand as Kaidan began to clear the countertop.  Shepard watched him, shoulders stiffening once more, the tension in his gut boiling over into a few reckless words.

“You should.  This was all your fault.”

Kaidan looked up at him, eyes a little wider, and said, “I’m sorry?”

“You distracted me.”

Half of a smile stretched over Kaidan’s lips, teasing at the edges, hinting at the possibility of becoming a proper grin.  “I thought you needed a distraction once in a while, Shepard,” he said, voice a little deeper.  His eyebrow arched slightly, daring to break the stoic control in the few moments before he actively suppressed it.

But Shepard had noticed that detail.

Somewhere under those layers of self-control was raw power.  Not like a biotic field or a perfectly-aimed shot, but subtle, nuanced – the strength of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. 

Or maybe it was Shepard’s own desires projected.  Neither situation was particularly suitable to their respective positions.

The lieutenant was untouchable, walled off behind titles and protocol, behind the Alliance regs that he could recite verbatim.  Endless lines of text that he had committed to memory.  So many words that amounted to so little.

 _“Words mean nothing until you turn them into actions,”_ as Shepard had told Garrus at some point.

Maybe that explained his annoyance with mission reports.  Writing a report that forced a conclusion halfway through the story was just as disingenuous as finding the right mix of meaningless words to suit a story that had already reached its conclusion.

What had yet to be done was another matter.

Kaidan sank back into ‘good soldier mode,’ but the way his eyes darted toward the empty passageway at the other end of the mess could not be so easily hidden.

“I should check on my equipment, or… I should… I should go.”

Ashley cocked an eyebrow at that.  Her eyes followed Kaidan as he rounded the corner to the elevator corridor, and then she turned her head toward Shepard, brow still arched and a smug grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Gee, I wonder where he picked that up,” she said, taking a few steps toward him.  “‘I should—’”

“Not another word, Williams.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maybe there was something more here.

Shepard had already heard all about Rahna and Vyrnnus.  He knew all the little details.  He knew it was yet another layer of complexity.  He knew it was a huge factor in why Kaidan valued his self-control and why, as he had admitted, he never thought of much beyond the job.  Wandering minds tended to get lost in thought.

But the lingering smirk on Ashley’s face made him wonder.


	3. Visions

Ashley had given him sideways glances throughout the entire mission.

And he had pretended not to notice.

Shepard made his usual rounds after the mission, made his usual small talk with the crew, made his usual bad jokes and awkward transitions.  But when he approached Ashley at her usual spot in the cargo hold, she looked up from the weapons bench quickly, decidedly, like she had been waiting for the opportunity for far too long.

She set her rifle down and said, “You’ve been looking a little beat up these days, Skipper.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  “The mission just keeps getting bigger, and the assignments just keep stacking up… but we’ll get it done.”

“You know, I’ve had to fight for a lot of things in my life.  Sometimes it’s hard to know that it’ll all be worth it in the end.  But everything happens for a reason, Shepard.  I believe that.”

Shepard eyed her for a moment.  “What brought that on?” he finally asked.

“A few things I’ve noticed,” she said, an eyebrow briefly arching and then sinking back into place.  “A few other things I’ve heard.”

“Scuttlebutt says a lot of things,” he scoffed.  “It’s not exactly the most reliable source of information.”

“You’re right, it’s not the most reliable,” she said, turning her head slightly, watching him watch her.  “But I can see it for myself.  You’ve been a little tense.  Or, rather, very tense.”

“The visions from the beacon are still keeping me up at night,” he said.  “That’s all.”

“Huh.  I would’ve thought the lieutenant played some part in that.”

“Excuse me?”

Ashley had never been one to beat around the bush.  She set her sights and honed in on a target with harshly perfect accuracy.

“Okay, look… I know this isn’t my place, but I just have to get this out there.  I’ve noticed the way you look at him.”

“Williams—”

“And the way he looks at you.”

Shepard held up a hand, and she stopped where she was.

“This conversation never happened.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”  She looked like she was straining to keep from saying much more, the sudden formality restrictive and unwelcome.  “Sorry, sir.  Just…”

Her gaze fell slightly, tracing aimless patterns over the deck, her eyes softer around the edges.

She finally looked back at him and said, “Remember to ‘drink life to the lees,’ Commander.”

A little wistful, like she was speaking from experience.  Like her words were straight from the heart.

“I’ve got a report to do,” he replied.  “You should get back to your duties, as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned away and headed for the elevator.  Her words followed him, formal and restrained, drained of the passion she held for everything else.  He leaned against the wall and watched the lift door close before him in silence.

He remembered when she had recited her father’s favorite poem.

The shine in her eyes.  The raw emotion and honesty in her voice.  The way her hands gestured with the words.  The way she wove them all together into a story all her own.

 

_I cannot rest from travel: I will drink_

_Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed_

_Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those_

_That loved me, and alone…_

 

* * *

 

 

The truth was that he almost missed the times when visions from the prothean beacon kept him up at night.  Something about jolting awake from a lurid dream about his subordinate made his stomach twist in knots.

Shepard brought a hand to his damp brow and tilted his head to the side, beaded sweat trailing down his temples and becoming cold spots upon the pillow.

Since Anderson had left him in command of the _Normandy_ , he had learned to appreciate having his own space.  Sometimes it seemed like the only good thing to come from having so much responsibility suddenly stacked upon his shoulders.

He looked at the screen on the starboard wall.  A half-finished report chanced a glance back at him, letters flickering with the slightest waver in the holographic display.  He turned his head away, settled against the sheet, and stared at the ceiling.

His throat was dry, his skin was uncomfortably slick with sweat, and his fatigues were unbearably tight.

Again.

Waking up like this was becoming routine in the worst possible way.  Routine enough that he had started keeping a container of hygienic wipes at his bedside.

He wondered if Kaidan ever had these dreams, if Kaidan ever woke to a sweaty brow and a hard-on, if Kaidan ever took care of himself in the shower or some dark, relatively private corner of the ship, if Kaidan ever—

“Fuck _._ ”

He closed his eyes, and Kaidan was all around him.

One hand frantically worked the clasp of his belt while the other stroked against the material of his trousers on sloppy motions, the friction of the thick fabric against his erection sending sharp reverberations through his gut like a taut wire being plucked over and over.  He turned his head the other way against the pillow and let out a nearly desperate sigh as his arms tensed and flexed, as his hands worked, as the black space behind his eyelids filled with the lieutenant’s face.

He had memorized every little detail.

_Hazel eyes gazing back at him, half-lidded and dark with desire, only a few inches away from his own.  Every breath wafting about his neck as those scarred lips hovered over his flesh, threatening to press against it and send oversensitive nerves reeling with untold pleasure.  A soft moan escaping those lips instead, a tiny disturbance in what little space remained between them, a husky voice drowning in a wordless breath._

He tore the belt open as quickly as he could manage and shoved the fatigues further down, spreading his thighs as the material slid over his knees.  He hiked his shirt up, hand fisted around the starchy fabric, wrist pressed against his own flesh, skin twitching against skin with every breath, every motion.

_Hands sprawling out over his chest, callused fingertips tracing aimless lines over the dips and crests of muscle.  Heady breaths eliciting a fine sheen of sweat from his skin, soon smoothed over the breadth of his pecs as those hands fanned out over them, deft fingers tweaking his nipples, rough palms kneading the flesh beneath them._

Shepard took himself in hand, fingers curling around the shaft with a little too much haste, thumb sliding carelessly up the other side and brushing over the head.  He pushed his shirt further up, baring more flesh to the still cabin air, and rolled a nipple between a thumb and finger until it was a hard nub.  And he tilted his head back against the pillow and craned his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing with every small moan that escaped his throat.

_Lips finally pressing against his neck, trailing a long line from his collarbone to the hinge of his jaw.  Teeth teasing his earlobe as heavy breaths slipped between them.  Barely-there stubble brushing backward against his skin as a tongue traced its way back down his neck and dipped into the hollow of his throat, drawing up the beaded sweat with a single languid stroke._

He arched from the bed, shoulder blades pressing into the sheets as a swath of cold air rushed under the sweat-dampened small of his back.  He shuddered under the jolt that clambered a short way up his spine and settled in the pit of his stomach, the tension palpable in the air that he had filled with his own groans and sighs.

“Kai— _fuck_ , K-Kaidan…”

He dug his heels into the mattress, toes curling within his boots as he met every stroke of his hand with a thrust of his hips.  He panted, mouth agape and moans loud and unapologetic, hard muscles flexing beneath battle-worn skin.  His chest heaved as his breaths grew shorter and shorter and his strokes became faster and faster.  And he writhed under every motion, the ridges of his fingers brushing over the sensitive nerves on the underside, thumb catching the pre-cum that leaked from the slit and swirling it around the head on every upstroke.

_A hand weaving its way down his abs and under the waistband of his briefs, fingertips turning sideways to grip his shaft and thumb sliding up and over the head.  Eyes locking on his as that hand began to pump and rub and squeeze.  That voice – breathless, lust-drunk, underscored by a hint of compassion – wafting into his ear._

_“Shepard…”_

“Kaidan—”

A few final strokes had him spilling over his exposed abs, warm cum streaking over skin stained with cold sweat.  His muscles tensed and his hand twitched around his erection, still throbbing on the last waves of climax, sending sparks up his spine and forcing the air from his lungs on staggered moans and gasps.  And then he lay there, feeling his breaths normalize as he reached for a hygienic wipe, only to have his hand fall limp off the edge of the bed.

This time, he let the evidence dry upon his flesh.


	4. Question

Well into the night cycle, the slow, steady hum of the _Normandy’s_ drive core and the flickering words on the data screen were the only signs of life within his cabin, as had become routine.

When Shepard finally left his cabin, he found Kaidan working at the console just outside, as had long been routine.  Kaidan looked up when he heard familiar footsteps against the metal deck, but, this time, there was no accompanying quirk of his lip.  He afforded Shepard a slight nod of acknowledgement and then turned back toward the console.

Shepard wanted to think that he understood.

Since the team’s return from the _MSV Ontario_ , Kaidan had been oddly quiet.  A hostage situation involving L2 biotic extremists had been completely unexpected.  Hackett’s orders had been to diffuse the situation quickly and quietly, and Shepard had taken Kaidan along without hesitation… only to realize halfway through the gunfight in the freighter’s cargo hold exactly what he had done.

He wanted so badly to think that he understood.

He turned away and headed for the elevator at the other end of the bulkhead.  And he stood there, leaning against the wall, silent and still, unsure of what he was even waiting for.

The sounds of footfalls grew steadily closer, reflecting off the deck and reverberating within the stairwells at either side of the passageway before him.  He stared at the floor as Kaidan made his way into the lift.

Silence settled back into place.

There were no regs against being close colleagues or even good friends.  But there were regs against fraternization.  That had been made abundantly clear.  Over and over again.  No one had ever had to say it.

Kaidan turned on his heel and leaned against the wall at Shepard’s side, mindful enough to keep a solid foot of distance between them, but Shepard could still see it: the way his muscles flexed beneath the sleeves of his uniform as he folded his arms, the way his jaw clenched the slightest bit, the way his gaze fell to the floor almost immediately.

Shepard made no move to reach for the lift’s control panel.

And neither did Kaidan.

They stood there, side by side, sharing the silence of the confining space.  A quiet stillness that defied the chain of command and what should have been expected from both of them.  A rare moment of calm between missions and reports that ignored the reality that lurked in the darkness of space just outside the _Normandy’s_ hull – just outside of this tiny space between them.

But still, in this small space, every unspoken word festered in the air, thick and unforgiving.

Sometimes Shepard had no idea what to do with his words.

He had been putting more effort into his mission reports as of late, drawing in what details he could, trying to make them seem real.

_“Extremist leader pointed gun at Burns’ head.  Lackey stood nearby with gun holstered, possibly awaiting orders or hostile action from boarding party.  Leader demanded reparations for L2 biotics’ treatment, pain, suffering.  Leader claimed letters sent to Alliance were ineffective.  Lt. Alenko attempted to persuade leader to listen to fellow L2, trust in Alliance structure.  Negotiations successful—”_

But they were just words.  Just words typed out into a report that was too late to do any good.  Endless words that could never properly recall the situation on the ground or what must have been running through Burns’ mind or what Kaidan must have felt…

As if on cue, Kaidan finally spoke.

“That last one was rough.”

Just like his voice.  Just like the angles of his jaw.  Just like Shepard had dreamed his hands would feel.

Shepard shook off those thoughts immediately.

“You did good work on the freighter,” he said.

“I had to say something, Shepard,” Kaidan replied, brow firmly set, eyes fixed forward – stark, determined.

Shepard let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back against the wall, the cold metal stinging and sending a sharp jolt down his spine.  He finally understood.

Or maybe he had all along.

Kaidan had no delusions about his life, his story, where he had been and where he was going.  He had no sympathy for biotic extremists.  He had his principles.  He knew what he wanted.  He knew what mattered to him.

And he had merely called it ‘discipline.’  Shepard would have called it ‘strength.’

Shepard finally opened his eyes and looked at him.  “It’s a good thing you did.”

“We can’t afford to play things close to the book anymore.”

“Agreed.  Focus on now, on what matters.”

Suddenly Kaidan faltered, the hard set of his brow easing the slightest bit, the stark determination in his eyes fading into doubt.  The look was so foreign that it made Shepard shudder.  Maybe something else had been bothering him.

“What matters most to you, Shepard?”

He rattled off the obvious answers in the silence of his head.

_The mission.  Doing the galaxy some good.  Doing the right thing._

They all sounded like something straight out of an Alliance recruitment vid, emotionally appealing to the young and enthusiastic and naïve, but vague and uninspired.  Words so empty in the absence of action.

No substance.  No consequence.

His answer lay buried in the gaze that he leveled at the man standing at his side, the man whose shoulders stiffened at the sight, the man whose brown eyes locked on his over the short distance between them.  The man whose principles meant the world to him.  The man whose sense of integrity had never been compromised by anyone or anything.  The man whose career had been built upon the mission, upon doing the galaxy some good, upon doing the right thing.

And all Shepard could conjure up in response was, “That’s a hard question, Kaidan.”

“So you’re not going to answer it.”

Shepard shook his head.  The answer lingered on the tip of his tongue, sealed behind the hard line of his lips pressed together.  A moment’s hesitation said everything; the signs were all there, carved into his body.

Heart racing.  Lungs empty.  Throat dry.

“I’m not sure I can.”  Or not sure he _should_.

It was still a question without an answer.

Everything was so goddamn complicated.

And yet Kaidan gazed back at him, eyes a little softer, breath catching on a fractured sigh as though halfway to a laugh.

“I see… I get that,” he finally said.  “Maybe being honest with yourself is easier said than done.  Most things are.”

Shepard stood still and eyed him for a moment.  Was Kaidan talking about him, or…?

He stopped thinking.  Kaidan was slowly inching toward him, lip curled at one corner—

Maybe he was imagining it.

Maybe he was imagining his heartbeat thrumming against his eardrums, the teasing quirk at the corner of Kaidan’s mouth, the thickness of the air as it filled with hot, frantic breaths, _the hands gripping his biceps and holding him against the wall, those scarred lips meshing with his own._

_Teeth and tongue clashing against his.  Deft fingers curling around the nape of his neck and thumb pressing against his temple.  Firm hands securing him in place while their chests brushed against each other with every heated breath.  Fabric pulling against overstimulated skin._

_Eyes, dark with desire, following his as he pulled back and dropped to his knees.  Rough hands settling on his shoulders as he worked the clasps of the belt in front of him.  Lustful moans punctuating sharp exhales and near-pained gasps, thighs shivering under his touch, defined muscles tensing and flexing under his every breath as he drew the belt open and tugged the trousers down just enough to—_

He blinked away the moment, and reality returned with a vengeance.  But Kaidan was there, eyes trained on him – stark, determined, and lost in the deep stare leveled back at him.

Shepard swallowed his own voice as he watched the haze suddenly dissipate from Kaidan’s eyes.  He looked like he had been shaken awake, like he had been pulled from a dream by force.  Kaidan finally opened his mouth and found his voice cracking and splitting under only a few words.

“I should go…”

Kaidan was stealing his lines, stealing words intended to rebuild the wall that separated duty and soul when the conversation was over.  And Shepard could not blame him for it.

It was fitting, actually, since Kaidan had already stolen his thoughts, his dreams, his heart.

Kaidan took a few steps back, every inch of distance as agonizing as the last, and Shepard felt a pang of loss like a punch to the gut.

There was no point in denying it.

He wanted it, wanted to feel Kaidan’s lips on his, wanted to feel Kaidan’s hands on him – rough, steeled and gritty and resolute, finishing the story that had been buried for far too long.  A story told in the scars engraved into his flesh.  A story told in dreams.  A story told only in silence.

Maybe Kaidan actually wanted it as much as he did.

Kaidan looked over his shoulder as he left the elevator, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary.  And Shepard stared back, eyes trained on his subordinate in a way that defied every reg he knew.  He watched the sharp angles of Kaidan’s profile as the lieutenant finally turned his head away, whiskey-dark eyes disappearing under a flutter of eyelashes, mouth shuttering closed on a breathless sigh.

_Maybe._

Kaidan disappeared around the corner, and Shepard suddenly felt the need for a shower.  Preferably cold and stinging.

Or maybe he would head back to his cabin and force himself to finish the mission report that had been loitering so callously on the data screen for the past few hours.

It would probably have the same effect.


	5. Heat

Garrus was the first to leave the Mako.

The vehicle’s interior was still unbearably hot and humid even after returning to the _Normandy_.  The planetside atmosphere lingered in the form of sweltering heat and thick air.  Garrus could handle the raw heat on Palaven, but Solcrum had been in a category of its own: a wasteland, a barren landscape that was deceivingly serene under the light of the blue giant star that loomed over the horizon line, a planet perfectly suited to its role in housing the last geth stronghold in the Armstrong Cluster. 

Garrus opened the hatch and climbed down as soon as the vehicle was secured, never looking back as the small door slammed shut behind him.  He just needed to get out of there, to finally breathe in the familiar, recycled air of the cargo bay.

The Mako was too confining.

Shepard removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow, the still-warm metal of his gauntlet slicking over the overheated swath of flesh, the thick air settling in the bottom of his lungs.  His eyes flicked to the side, and then the unexpected scrape of his armor against Kaidan’s sent a shiver up his spine.

He was so close.  Too close.  Or not close enough.

He watched in silence as Kaidan took off his own helmet.

The dim lights overhead casting shadows under every line on his face and accenting the heated flush of his skin.  Those lips parting slightly to release a heavy sigh.  Those half-lidded eyes gazing back at him.  The beads of sweat trailing down his temples.

“You’re sweating, Lieutenant.”

“Biotics run hot, Shepard.”

“Yeah.”

So fucking hot.

Shepard swallowed hard.  His pulse thrummed against his temples.  His chest tightened and his stomach twisted.  His skin flushed a little darker with every heartbeat.

The look in Kaidan’s eyes was deep, pulling him under and laying him bare.

The armor was just another formality.  Shepard could practically taste the sweat-dampened skin that lay buried beneath all that thick plating.  He could practically see his hands glossing over every dip and crest of muscle exposed to the humid air.  He could practically feel the scars beneath his tongue as it traced over the patterns his hands had mapped just moments before.

But Shepard found himself fixated on those eyes, dark with desire as they flicked down to watch his Adam’s apple bob on another hard swallow.  Restraint had driven Kaidan there: his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, his hands quivering beneath his gauntlets.  But there was a fire smoldering in Kaidan’s eyes, a slow combustion threatening to burn down the barrier between them.

They say that the devil is in the details.

The regs served to complicate the story, to wall it off from any real meaning, to drain it of any worth until the details were as bland as mission reports.

But this, this spark between them, was a story deserving of so much more.

Maybe the devil is in the details because it’s worth it.  Worth the added complexity.  Worth the defiance.  Worth the risk.

 _“Drink life to the lees.”_   Deceptively simple words.  A call to action that embraced every one of life’s little nuances.

So Shepard leaned forward and kissed him.

And before he could make sense of what had happened, Shepard was pushed back onto his haunches, his armor scratching against the hatch door, another sharp metallic scrape sending his nerves alight and his blood pumping.  The tip of Kaidan’s tongue traced over the seam of his lips, and Shepard finally opened his mouth to grant it entry, meeting every stroke of that tongue with his own, delving further, pushing as far as he could reach.

Hands scrambled for purchase, gauntlets sliding over perspiring skin and slick metal plating as their lips met over and over again, as their tongues twisted around one another in a tacit contest of resolve, as their heavy bodies met in some compromise halfway between the hatch door and the turret control console.

Shepard tilted his head to one side, letting Kaidan’s lips claim his on more fervent strokes.  Warm metal gauntlets glided over his exposed neck, teasing him.  A hot tongue traced over his palate, tasting him.  Teeth caught his bottom lip, marking him.  Want and need coiled low in his gut.  Sheer anticipation sent his nerves reeling.

A moan erupted from his throat when Kaidan pulled back, a string of saliva collapsing between them and leaving a glossy line over the lieutenant’s lip and chin, already slick with sweat.  His breaths were hot and frantic.  His eyes were glazed over with desire, lost to the feverish heat all around them.  He ground his hips down against Shepard’s, jaw clenching with the chaotic sounds of metal grating between them.

Tension burned like fire in the pit of Shepard’s stomach, and every one of Kaidan’s staggered groans and gasps stoked the flames until he thought he might actually combust.

A hand fumbled with the strap that held his pelvic plate in place, and Shepard arched into it, skin shivering under the phantom touch of that warm metal gauntlet.  His flesh was smoldering, prickling under the heat that radiated between them, permeating the hull and sticking in his lungs as though there were no armor between them.

Biotics ran hot.  Intense, nearly desperate.

Uncontainable.

Maybe.

Kaidan’s rapid breaths bled into a moan as his hands worked and his chest heaved beneath his armor.  Sweat streaked down his temples and chin and peppered Shepard’s armor as the commander writhed beneath him, restrained by all that metal plating and everything it stood for.  And when Kaidan leaned down to kiss him once more, Shepard opened his mouth without hesitation, gloved hands grasping at the nape of his neck and stubble brushing backward against his skin and tongue twining around his again and again and again.

_Maybe…_

He finally pulled back on the unfortunate necessity to breathe, his voice cracking under a panting groan.

“Kaidan—”

And suddenly the lieutenant tensed, eyes wide and bottom lip quivering, jarred back into awareness of himself only at hearing his name drowning in a moan, wanting and agonizingly hot.

Kaidan pulled back, kneeling before Shepard’s sprawled out body as he sat up to reach for him.  He watched the commander’s eyes flick back and forth between his, intense, just as desperate.  Shepard’s hand finally stopped and fell, gauntlet colliding with his greave with a loud clank, and Kaidan looked away.  So much noise, so much frantic desperation to retreat behind the wall.

“Shepard, I… I-I can’t, I mean— we… I shouldn’t, I—”

So many words that amounted to so little.

Shepard said nothing at all.  There was nothing worth saying.

An unwelcome flush crept over Kaidan’s cheeks and to his ears, too hot, driving him up the invisible wall with no way of reaching the top.  He swallowed awkwardly, heavy words stuck in his throat that he knew would sound so hollow when he finally forced them out.  He had lost control of his words, let alone his actions – something he had not done in years, something he had _needed_ to do for years.

Kaidan bit his lip, the indent left behind by a canine slowly revealing itself when he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“I should—”

“Go,” Shepard finished for him.

And he did.

Shepard watched the hatch door close, leaving him alone in the unbearable heat of this confined space.  His chest still heaved on staggered breaths.  Sweat still stuck to his skin and stained his armor.  He ran the back of his hand over his kiss-bruised lip, and the metal suddenly felt ice cold against his flesh.

He finally opened the hatch and let the rush of cool, recycled air sweep over his face and neck.  But beneath his armor, he was boiling alive.

Garrus was absent from his usual post; that was fortunate.  But when he caught sight of Ashley at the weapons bench at the opposite end of the cargo hold, her eyes met his in an instant – a rueful glance that fell away to the deck as she turned away and resumed cleaning her rifle.

He almost wanted to laugh.


	6. Story

Shepard had been sitting alone in his cabin since issuing the order to set course for Virmire.

He had been replaying the Council’s transmission over and over in his head.

He was used to ambiguity from the Council, but this one left him unsettled.  Something about a salarian recon team.  Something about potential information on Saren.  Something about an unclear message.  He had been tasked with investigating the situation on Virmire with a vague report and a bid of good luck.

But it felt different… and wrong.  Something lurked in the vagueness of it all, in the darkness between the lines of text that stared back at him from the short mission brief on the display screen above his desk.  Something told him he was going to be the one filling in all the details of this story.

Something told him that everything was going to change.

He heard the soft pneumatic hiss of his cabin door sliding open and then closed again.

And then silence.

Shepard never took his eyes off the screen.  “You’ll have to try harder, Lieutenant… I actually heard you come in.”

“I’m not trying to sneak up on you, Shepard,” Kaidan answered from his post near the doorway.

“Good to know,” Shepard replied, rising from his chair to face him properly.  “You should knock next time, though.  Common courtesy.”

The teasing undertone gave him permission to enter, something unduly light to the air of Shepard’s voice, and Kaidan stopped a few steps away from where the commander stood.

Shepard noticed the way that Kaidan glanced to the side, caught sight of the container of hygienic wipes atop the bedside table, and then looked back at him.  The way his eyes widened the slightest bit.  The way he swallowed hard and stuttered on a few fractured breaths before he could finally find his voice again.

“Yeah… I suppose I shou— _could_.  I-I mean, if I ever have occasion to…”

His words trailed off into an awkward silence, and he looked embarrassed, like he was ashamed of his haste or his mistakes or his uncertainty.  Like he was ashamed of being only human.

“So what brings you here?” Shepard finally asked.

“I was hoping to talk to you.”

“What’s left to talk about?”

Kaidan scratched at the side of his neck.  “What we, uh… well—”

“I don’t need to hear it, Kaidan.  I already know.”

 _“There are regs against fraternization.”_   Neither one of them had to say it.  It festered in the air between them, some invisible wall made real only through repetition.

And yet, that last line of defense was wearing pretty thin.

Shepard wanted to push him up against the wall and kiss him until he was starved for air, to finally silence the incessant words, to stop pretending that there was anything worthwhile holding them back.  But Kaidan’s eyes flicked back and forth between his, a subtle light piercing through the veneer of controlled stoicism.

There were regs against fraternization.  That was an undeniable truth.

And just a minor detail.

The galaxy was going to hell.  They could all die tomorrow.  Titles and procedures and regulations were such minor details at this point – footnotes for a story that was begging to be shown, not told.

_It’s okay to let go.  It’s okay to fall.  It’s okay to be human._

And when Kaidan bit his lip, Shepard could see that light in his eye flicker a little brighter, a hint of understanding peeking through the surface.

“Shepard, I… I want to figure this out.”

Shepard felt his heart surge into his throat.

Everything was going to change.

All he could manage to choke out was, “Kaidan.”

And Kaidan just kept talking.  “I can’t stand it anymore.  Not sure I could ever stand it, really.  There’s so much at stake here, and I’ve spent so much time thinking about it, and— and I can’t stand it.  Maybe I’m out of line, but…”

He stopped there, dark eyes darting back and forth between Shepard’s, lip pinched at one corner like he was straining to say something… or to _not_ say something.

“But this,” he finally continued, “this is important.”

Shepard stood still and silent.  Eyes fixed endlessly forward, heart pounding in his chest, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach.  Watching Kaidan bite his lip.  Watching the subtlest contortions in Kaidan’s expression.  Waiting for Kaidan to make a decision.  Waiting for Kaidan to make a move.

He had seen a glimpse of the passion that burned under Kaidan’s skin, the liquid fire in his veins, the little teasing details that threatened to break free of the regs that bound him under that tight uniform.  He had seen every crack in the surface that Kaidan fought so hard to maintain, even if he could taste the desire on the tip of his tongue, even if he needed this like he needed air.

And Kaidan said nothing at all.

He could have gone on and on about the mission, about the chain of command, about protocol and the fraternization regs and their inevitable courts-martial.  He could have rattled off a dozen different reasons why he should turn around and walk away from this.

But he never opened his mouth, never said a word, because the truth was that he could never turn around and walk away from this.

Never again.

Kaidan took a step forward, breaching that last line of defense, and then grabbed Shepard by the biceps and kissed him, hot and hard, teeth clicking between messily-meshed lips, like he had come untethered from the hollow words that had been holding him back.

How easily the invisible wall broke apart under the tiniest action.

Shepard dragged him back, keeping their lips locked together as their feet moved clumsily toward the desk, and he stopped when he felt the edge suddenly digging into the small of his back.  Kaidan kept pressing forward, kept tilting his head back and forth and searching for the angle he desired, kept his grip firm and his mouth moving, fervent strokes that claimed every one of Shepard’s breaths and muffled every one of Shepard’s moans.

Shepard put a hand on Kaidan’s chest and pushed him back slightly, their lips coming apart with a wet sound.  Kaidan nearly let out a mutter of protest until he found himself suddenly pressed back against the edge of the desk and looking down at Shepard collapsing to his knees in front of him.

Shepard looked back up at him, and Kaidan swallowed his breaths.  Every tiny flicker of light from the data screen flashed over the creases in Shepard’s brow and highlighted the sheen of saliva that coated his lips.

Shepard never took his eyes off him.  Never looked away as his hands grazed over the outside of Kaidan’s thighs and worked their way toward the belt, nails dragging over the starchy fabric.  Never let his gaze waver as he tore the belt open and then tugged the shirt up with one hand and dragged the trousers down with the other.

Blue eyes finally disappeared beneath a flutter of eyelashes as he leaned forward and trailed his tongue over the sharp angles of Kaidan's waist.  He took Kaidan’s half-hard length in hand and stroked it with a subtle twist of the wrist on every backstroke that sent the muscles beneath his lips tensing over and over again.  Kaidan’s hands clenched over the desk, fingers curling underneath the edge and veins bulging at the knuckles.

A single languid stroke of Shepard’s tongue up the shaft had Kaidan tilting his head back and closing his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing on a curse.

“ _Fuck_ …”

The word was pure desire, a voice hoarse with raw need.

Warm lips closed over the shaft on the way back down, gliding over the hard flesh with the slightest bit of suction.  His tongue flattened along the length of it, curling over the edges of the vein and dipping back toward the slit on the upstroke.

Kaidan shuddered under every motion, and Shepard palmed himself over his fatigues, carelessly stroking his own burgeoning erection to the beat of Kaidan’s rapid moans, that husky voice coiling in the air between hitched breaths and frantic gasps.  He moved all the way down, taking the entire length on a single movement.

He could nearly feel the tension radiating from Kaidan as the man struggled to bite back the filthy sounds that festered in his throat, wanting escape.  So he curled his fingers around the base of the shaft and hastened his pace, taking every inch on every motion.

He undid his own belt and began to stroke himself, hard and fast, at the sound of the longer moan that slipped between Kaidan’s clenched teeth.  He relished in the feeling of Kaidan’s hands on his scalp, fingers sprawling out against the buzzed hair and trembling under the prickling sensation.

A stolen glance told him everything.  Kaidan’s normally steeled expression had melted into one of unashamed pleasure.

Not that Shepard had a chance to properly savor it.

Kaidan suddenly grabbed his shirt, hands fisting tightly over the rough material as he hauled Shepard to his feet and pressed their lips together.  Open-mouthed and wanting and hot.  Tongues darting out to meet in the middle, tasting the bitter hint of pre-cum and the musk of sweat and arousal that had already begun to permeate the room.

Hips ground against each other, erections touching between them, saliva and sweat staining their uniforms.  Hands began to grasp at any fabric they could reach, drawing it open and tearing it off, palms spreading out over exposed skin.  Clothes and boots formed a haphazard trail across the floor as they stripped one another bare between kisses and eager strokes of skin, bodies moving inelegantly as they backed toward the bed.

Shepard found himself on his back, cold sheets stinging under his damp skin and two strong arms framing him on either side.

Freed from his uniform, he forgot about everything.

No regs tying his hands.  No chain of command restricting his thoughts.  No mission report demanding every little detail from stories long finished.

Instead, there was only Kaidan.

The hot tongue tracing over the outline of his Adam’s apple.  The teeth nipping a rough line over his flesh.  The apologetically soft kisses that followed the same pattern, feather-light and soothing.

Details he had never imagined.  Details he would never forget.  Details worth remembering.

Kaidan pulled back, hands sprawled out over the sheets near Shepard’s shoulders as he looked down at the man so wantonly laid bare beneath him, mouth agape and panting and eyes welled with desire.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” Kaidan said, a weighty breath chasing after his words, a hand trailing down Shepard’s collarbone and fanning out over his chest.  “About you.”

Shepard arched into the touch.  “Me too,” he said, a sigh and a groan, “so many fucking times.”

“I want you, Shepard.  This is what matters.  I—”

“Kaidan.  Stop talking.”

He saw the glint in Kaidan’s eye, the curl of his lip that grew into a suggestive grin, the way he shifted back onto his haunches and trailed his palms over every inch of flesh on the way down, tantalizingly slow. 

The way Kaidan’s hands forced his legs apart.  The way Kaidan settled between his spread knees.  The way Kaidan took his erection in hand and waited, dragging the moment out into eternity, reveling in the sight of the commander’s hands clenching the sheets with tense anticipation.

Kaidan dipped his tongue into the slant of Shepard’s hip, drawing up the thin line of sweat that had pooled there, following the edges of it with impossibly soft lips as the lattice of skin and muscle flexed beneath them.

A murmur of frustration boiled out of Shepard’s throat.  It broke down into a moan of pleasure when Kaidan’s tongue touched the base of his shaft and traced a long, slow stroke up the underside and to the tip.

Shepard was so hard for him.

Scarred lips, slick with saliva, finally slid down a few inches and drew back up, smooth and tight and controlled.  A tongue traced circles around the edges of the head and dipped toward the slit at unpredictable intervals.  A hand stroked the base as those lips gradually glided further down, sending his nerves ablaze and his blood pumping to match the rhythm of those perfect motions.

“Holy shit, Kaidan,” he breathed, hot and hard and heavy when the words slipped out.

It was nothing like he had ever dreamed.

His hands gripped Kaidan’s shoulders, bracing himself as his hips began to shift up into that wet heat.  He could feel his muscles repeatedly going taut and relaxing.  He could taste the arousal palpable in the air, how every lungful of it sent sparks coursing through his body in chaotic directions.  He could see the shaft sliding in and out of Kaidan’s mouth, the way those lips parted around it, the way the hand moved out of the way so those lips could finally take him in all the way to the base.

It was so much better than he had ever dreamed.

Kaidan pulled back, the weeping tip resting against his tongue, a line of saliva mixed with pre-cum weaving its way down from the corner of his mouth, and looked up at him.

Their eyes met and Shepard felt his heart slam into his ribcage.

His hands began to slide from Kaidan’s shoulders, to reach for him.

But Kaidan caught them in one hand and forced them back down to the sheet above Shepard’s head, pinning them in place while he ground his hips against him, their erections sliding along one another on disjointed movements that made Shepard groan.

Short breaths wafted into the air between them.  Sweat trailed down his temples.  His wrists fidgeted against Kaidan’s fingers as he watched the man shift upward to hover over him and return the gaze through half-lidded eyes, dark and flooded with desire.

The look in Kaidan’s eyes was bold, possessive – silently commanding him not to move.

Kaidan had long been constrained by regs, the pure white bandage that covered a raw wound, the deep gash of forbidden desire, without letting it breathe.  Shepard drew in a sharp gasp, tension coiling low in his gut.  Watching Kaidan unravel at the seams and seize control of the moment – of _him_ – was unbelievably hot.

The grip on Shepard’s wrists tightened as Kaidan took both of their erections in his free hand and began to stroke them together.  Fingers brushed along the heads while a thumb caught the beaded pre-cum at the slits and streaked it down the shafts on alternating motions.

Unbearable heat.  Intense friction.  Undeniable pleasure.

Shepard resisted the urge to close his eyes.  He wanted to see everything, to commit it all to memory, to embrace it now and for as long as he could.

Kaidan above him, flushed and breathless, looking down at him with heavily-lidded eyes.  Kaidan wearing the same wanting expression as him, mouth open and twitching at the corners with every uninhibited moan.

Shepard was getting lost in the sight and in the feeling.

His voice was raw, scraping his throat on the way out.  His pulse thrummed erratically against his temples.  His hands clenched into fists as his wrists twisted and shifted in Kaidan’s grasp.  His chest heaved on staggered moans and gasps, a sharp staccato that pierced through the air like gunfire.

They should have done this so long ago.

A few novel strokes had Shepard moaning, hips bucking up into Kaidan’s hand as his body writhed and his torso arched from the bed.  Kaidan licked his lips as he watched the man beneath him shudder and groan, wrists straining under his hold and eyes fluttering, struggling to stay open to meet his gaze, to take in the moment and know that it was real.

Kaidan finally released his wrists, and Shepard’s hands immediately darted up, palms sliding over his shoulders, nails digging into his back, sprawled-out fingers trailing aimless lines over his neck and chest and abs and back up again.  When they finally settled at the nape of Kaidan’s neck, quivering fingertips twining into damp hair and skimming over his amp port, Kaidan shuddered and leaned down to kiss him hard.

Tongues coiling between lips pressed too close together.  Stubble scratching at flushed skin.  Muscles tensing and flexing against each other with every breath and every movement.

Hot.  Frantic.  Messy.

There was no right way to do this.  No textbook execution that one might find in case studies or field handbooks.  There was only the two of them, bodies against each other, writhing, panting.  Grabbing and holding and feeling.  Letting go of the norm and drawing their own path with hands and tongues and teeth.

They were treading so close to the edge.  So close—

Kaidan suddenly parted from him and drew in a sharp gasp, exhaling with a few rough words: “Shepard, I’m… I’m gonna’ come.”

Shepard watched Kaidan’s bottom lip quiver on those words.

He had waited for this moment.  Wanted it.  Needed it.

This moment he had dreamed about so many times before.

“K-Kaidan,” he said, his voice stumbling over the syllables as their bodies rocked against one another, “come for— come with me.”

And then he kissed him with everything he had.

Kaidan’s motions began to falter.  Low growls in his throat, vaguely sounding like Shepard’s name, slipped from between their meshed lips and lingered in the air all around them.

One of Shepard’s hands fell to Kaidan’s waist, nails pressing into his skin.  The other joined Kaidan’s, entwined their fingers, matched his strokes on their hard lengths.  Kaidan groaned into his mouth, and Shepard returned it in earnest.

Shepard angled his head to kiss him deeper, bringing them closer as their hands worked over their erections, thumbs catching the pre-cum that leaked from the slits.  Their movements took on a more passionate edge as their foreheads touched and their lips met again and again, scattered breaths wafting about their necks, stubble brushing over sweat-dampened skin as their kisses grew longer and more intense.

It was all too perfect.

Kaidan groaned and shivered, pulling away and pressing his forehead to the crook of Shepard’s neck as he found release.  Warm cum streaked over Shepard’s abs, and he tensed under the sensation, so unbearably close to his own climax.  Shepard cried out, eyes clenching shut as he reveled in the feeling: every residual pulse of Kaidan’s erection against his own, the trembling fingers still holding them flush against each other, the sweat and saliva and cum that smoothed out every stroke and warmed his skin.

Kaidan turned his head and kissed him, just once, and Shepard moaned against his lips as he came, thick lines of cum marking his stomach like Kaidan’s had just moments before.

Shepard had no idea how long he lay there, letting his skin burn under the heavy breaths and body heat and dripping sweat shared between them.  It might have been a few seconds.  It might have been a few minutes.  It might have been an eternity.

But he could not possibly care less.  It was perfect.  More than perfect.

It was everything.  It was Kaidan.  It was the two of them, together.

At this moment, they were everything.

He opened his eyes when he felt a damp wipe sweeping back and forth over his flesh.  He found Kaidan looking back at him, hygienic wipe in hand and lip sheepishly quirked at one corner, perhaps amused at the convenience of it.  Kaidan tossed the used wipe aside and then stayed there, gazing back down at him, face suddenly unreadable once he had come down from the high.

He swallowed hard and watched Shepard’s eyes soften.  Watched the last beads of sweat trail from Shepard’s brow down his temples.  Watched Shepard watch him.

“Shepard, I…”

“Stay.”

It was the only word either one of them needed to hear.

And Shepard watched as Kaidan’s expression relaxed and his breaths began to even out.

Light, calm, and free.

Kaidan let himself fall forward and draped an arm over Shepard’s waist, body half on top of him in a bed that was barely big enough for one person, let alone two.  Shepard drew his arms around Kaidan’s shoulders and held him upright, meeting his gaze and breathing against him and feeling their hearts beat between their chests pressed so closely together.

The curl of his lip breaking into a smile, the softened creases upon his brow, the contented light in his eyes that had never been there before, the earnestness of his voice and the raw honesty in his low laugh…

Shepard would remember those details for years to come, wherever it took them and however they got there.

Every little detail was worth knowing, worth feeling, worth holding on to.

He brought a hand to Kaidan’s chin to tilt it up, meeting those smiling lips with his own.

There was nothing frenetic about the kiss.  No desperation or haste to the motions of their lips moving so perfectly in sync.  It was close, compassionate, intimate.  Tender.  Seeking each other’s warmth.  Falling into each other’s embrace.  Marking this moment with the promise of so many more.

Their story had just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank AnnaRaven for her incredible patience while I finished getting this written and posted. It was an honor to write something for such a talented writer and wonderful person. :)  
>   
> And I have to thank all y’all for reading and for the kudos and comments! I hope you enjoyed! <3


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